


Playing

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Board Games, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Finally Shindou sets a stone down, the faint click of the impact strikes spark to the tinder of Touya’s irritation, and he’s rocking up onto his knees without thinking, only a deep-set respect for Go boards keeping him from slamming his hand against the surface." Touya comes over to play a game of Go with Shindou and they end up doing more than was promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing

Touya knows he’s going to win the game.

It’s rare for him to be so certain so far before the conclusion of the match itself. Usually he and Shindou come to the realize within a hand of each other, resignation coming hard on the heels of the awareness so they can lapse into arguing over the game, or start a new round, or any number of more entertaining ways to spend time than dragging out a known conclusion. But Shindou keeps playing for another hand, two, three, until it’s been almost ten minutes and Touya is spending more time glaring at the other boy than watching the board. Finally Shindou sets a stone down, the faint  _click_  of the impact strikes spark to the tinder of Touya’s irritation, and he’s rocking up onto his knees without thinking, only a deep-set respect for Go boards keeping him from slamming his hand against the surface.

“ _Shindou_.” His voice is cracking embarrassingly high but he can’t seem to call it back, doesn’t have any option but to push forward with his speech. “What is  _wrong_  with you?”

“Huh?” Shindou looks up, his eyes wide and shocked. “What are you talking about?”

Touya has a brief flashback, years-old memory of frustration at a high school tournament and eyes gone soft with an apology he didn’t understand. But this is Shindou as he is now, stripped of whatever strange inconsistency he had then, and he can play better than this, Touya knows.

“You’ve lost,” he snaps, words grating over his tongue as his fingers curl into fists at his palms. “Are you even paying attention?”

“What?” Shindou looks down, a hand coming up to push through the lighter strands of hair framing his face. Touya can see the awareness spread slow over his features, his eyes going wide with realization. “Oh.”

“I thought you said you wanted to play,” Touya growls. There’s a pain in his chest, tightness catching in his throat, until he has to cough to clear away the emotion staining his words. “If you’re not interested, then I’ll just go home.”

“That’s not it!” Shindou blurts, waving his hands and leaning in closer. His hair falls over his face, the shadow casting his features into not-quite-familiarity, and Touya hesitates with his whole body wound tight on the intention to leave.

Shindou reaches out, his fingers catching and dragging against the edge of Touya’s sleeve as if to hold him where he is. There’s a rush of warmth in Touya’s blood, like steam is filling his veins in place of calmer liquid, but he doesn’t move, either to return the contact or to pull away.

“That’s not it,” Shindou says again, a little more evenly. His mouth works, twisting around a frown for a moment before returning to its usual line; even under the shadow of his hair, Touya can see color rising under his skin and going dark across his cheeks. He coughs, hard like he’s taken a breath the wrong way, and his fingers tighten on Touya’s sleeve. “I  _do_  want to play.”

“Then  _play_ ,” Touya snaps, but he’s still not pulling away; his hand is caught in midair, hovering over the board like he’s reaching out for the stones in obedience to the tug of Shindou’s fingers. “What are you thinking about that’s so distracting?”

Shindou looks up. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are wide, dark with the beginnings of apology, but it’s his mouth Touya’s gaze drops to, the damp clinging to his lips and the way they’re starting to part around the words Touya suddenly doesn’t need to hear.

“You said you wanted to  _play_ ,” he offers, the protest weak even to his own ears, but Shindou is rocking up on his knees and reaching out to brace a hand against the top of the board. The game scatters into unintelligibility under his fingertips, stones skidding away to spill to the floor, but Touya doesn’t frame words around that protest either; Shindou’s too close now, the warm of his breathing coming hot against Touya’s lips.

“You always say no unless I ask for a game,” Shindou says, and then his mouth is against Touya’s, lips fitting against the other’s like they were made to press together. Touya’s eyelashes flutter, the heat of contact still distracting even on what is far from the first time, but he’s still the one to pull back after a moment, reaches for a complaint around the way his pulse is running faster under his skin.

“You shouldn’t ask for a game if you just wanted to kiss,” he insists.

Shindou heaves a sigh. “I don’t see why we can’t do  _both_ ,” he says, and he’s leaning in farther, tipping so far over the board Touya imagines he can hear it creak.

“ _Shindou_ \--” he starts, and Shindou kisses him again, this time with the almost-friction of his tongue too, so when Touya opens his mouth to speak Shindou ends up licking against the inside of his mouth instead. He still wants to protest, can still see the shape of an argument in his thoughts, but Shindou’s fingers are coming up to slide under his hair and weight at the back of his neck, and the heat at his mouth is sparkling out into his veins, and he can’t quite reach the coherency he needs. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t  _want_  to pull away, and when finally Shindou is the one to draw back and gasp for air the only thing Touya can think to say is, “Not the board.”

“Huh?” Shindou looks a little bit lost, his shoulders tense and his mouth soft, and he’s leaning back in like he’s thinking about brushing aside his confusion with another kiss.

Touya reaches out, closes his fingers on Shindou’s bracing wrist. The contact with the other’s bare skin cracks electricity up his arm to ground out along his spine. “Stop leaning on the board.”

Shindou looks down, like he’s only just realized what he’s doing. “Oh.” A burst of laughter, the sound throwing Touya sharply back in time to when they were children in truth instead of the nearly-adults they are now. Shindou moves his hand, leaning back so he can keep his balance without the support, and before Touya can decide if he’s more relieved to have the threat to the board removed or frustrated by the widened gap between them Shindou crawls around the corner, reaches out to link his other hand atop the one still clinging to Touya’s neck, and he can’t remember how to breathe again.

“Happy now?” Shindou asks, and Touya is, is starting to smile unwillingly even before Shindou tips back in to kiss him again. His hands are warm, faintly sweaty and sticking to Touya’s skin when either of them move. When Touya reaches out his fingertips bump against fabric, the impossible softness Shindou’s t-shirts always have, and then he opens his mouth again and lets his eyes shut and forgets about the board next to them for a minute. It feels like blasphemy, to admit even in his head that something might be more important than Go, but within the moment his heart is racing like he’s in the middle of a game and his hands are trembling against Shindou’s waist and when he shuts his eyes he can see fireworks, light and beauty bursting into existence at Shindou’s call. Shindou’s tongue slides against Touya’s lips, the fingers at Touya’s neck slide by an inch, and Touya whimpers without thinking, the sound dropping off his tongue and into Shindou’s mouth before he can think.

Shindou makes a weird noise, a funny broken exhale that feels loud on Touya’s mouth, and then he’s closer, pressing in so hard Touya has to let one of his hands go, reach out behind himself to brace his backwards motions from turning into a fall. Their mouths break apart, Touya’s heart thrumming a pattern against the inside of his ribcage while Shindou gulps air like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“I’ll play you again after,” Shindou says, words spilling in a rush over his lips. “A real game, when I’m not distracted.”

“After  _what_?” Touya asks, trying to sound aggressive and resistant and not sure he succeeds in sounding anything other than breathless. Shindou’s gaze drops to his mouth, Shindou’s fingers drop from his neck, and then there’s the friction of a kiss and a hand at his hip at once, and Touya’s distracted again. Shindou’s better at this than he ought to be; without the advantage of years of practice the speed of his learning well outpaces Touya’s, until it’s all Touya can do to keep himself upright under the push of Shindou’s lips and the warm slide of his tongue. The fingers at his hips are coming sideways, Shindou’s knee is fitting in between Touya’s, and then there’s pressure against the front of Touya’s jeans and he’s gasping and jerking back, his hand coming up to Shindou’s shoulder to hold him back by a few inches.

“ _Shindou_ ,” and that is a squeak, there’s no other way to interpret the sound in his throat. “What are you  _doing_?”

Shindou’s expression falls, his eyes going wide and faintly pleading; Touya’s pretty sure he’s not aware of the soft curve of his lip, or of the way his forehead creases together between his eyebrows. “Do you not want to?” He looks down, pushes in a little harder with his hand, and Touya has to shut his mouth firmly on the moan that tries to spill up his throat. “You  _feel_  like you want to.”

“ _What_?” Touya blurts; then, fast, because Shindou might take that as a request to  _repeat_  himself: “That--that has nothing to do with it!”

“I want to,” Shindou declares, and he’s leaning in closer, his eyes are dropping to land heavy at Touya’s mouth again. “I think about it a lot.” His hand isn’t moving, either to press in or pull away; Touya can feel the thud of his heartbeat coming hard in his throat, his body pulsing hot against Shindou’s hand, and this is  _not_  the right line of thinking. “Don’t you think about me?”

“ _No_ ,” Touya lies, trying to keep himself from rocking up to press harder against Shindou’s hand. He succeeds, for a moment; then Shindou takes a breath, his hand slips an inch, and Touya doesn’t have a chance to stop himself from groaning and dropping his hand to clutch at Shindou’s wrist, holding him steady so he can push up against it. It’s not enough -- there’s no real satisfaction in it -- but the burn shivers out through his veins pleasantly enough, and his face flares hot with sensation instead of self-consciousness, and when Shindou takes a breath Touya is speaking before he can hear the question.

“Just stop  _asking_ ,” he grates, keeping his eyes on Shindou’s shoulder instead of at his face so he doesn’t have to confront the other’s gaze. His skin is hot, his fingers flexing unconsciously on Shindou’s wrist before he can get himself to let go so he can reach out and grab at the other’s shirt instead.

He can hear the breath Shindou lets out, the rush of air hissing past his lips like relief and shock at the same time. And then, “Okay,” he says, and his fingers are moving, and Touya has to shut his eyes and focus all his attention on closing his mouth on the sound he wants to make. There’s pressure against his jeans, fumbling fingers pushing against the button and feeling for the pull of the zipper, and he’s painfully, brilliantly aware of how hard he is, that every movement of Shindou’s fingertips is bumping against the giveaway pressure against the front of his pants. But even with his eyes shut he can hear Shindou breathing, the sound rushing fast in his throat and catching occasionally like he’s losing the rhythm, and then there are fingers pressing hot against the bare skin at Touya’s stomach and he sucks in an enormous inhale all at once.

“Oh god,” he gasps, “ _Shindou_ ” and Shindou’s  _touching_  him, his fingers dragging down and closing into a hold that is as unfamiliar as it is satisfying. The heat from his hand burns out into Touya’s blood, Touya’s gasping and arching up and Shindou’s groaning, a weird low sound almost like he’s been hit. The hold around Touya drags up, a little too-tight and at a weird angle, but the friction is like a wave crashing over his head, the burn trembling along his legs and up the base of his spine.

“Touya,” Shindou breathes, sounding shattered and shocked, and Touya’s reaching without thinking, dragging his fingers free of the other’s shirt to catch at the top edge of his shorts instead. It feels like overstepping, like he’s toppling forward over a wall that didn’t exist at all, but then Shindou’s fingers tighten on him and Shindou makes this shocked-open sound, like his throat is opening up in anticipation, and Touya grabs at the elastic waistband and drags at the clothing. He still doesn’t have his eyes open -- he’s not sure he could keep doing what he’s doing, if he could see -- but as it turns out it’s not hard to push Shindou’s clothes half-off his hips, and then there’s just skin, warm and radiant, and when Touya moves his fingers the weight of Shindou’s cock presses in against his palm before he can think.

He snatches his hand back, impulse coupled with an anxious apology on his lips, but Shindou’s making that broken sound again, framing his voice around a “ _Yes_ ” so low and shaky Touya can feel it tighten in his chest like bands wrapping around him. When he reaches back out Shindou rocks up to meet him, and his sustained grip slides up over Touya, and Touya moves all at once to wrap his fingers into a hold and move before he can overthink it.

It’s not really a rhythm. There’s too much desperation there, panic so high in Touya’s veins excitement is only barely winning out, adrenaline racing arousal until it’s hard to remember how to breathe. But he can hear Shindou’s breathing cracking with every one of his movements, like it’s the other boy’s inhales under his fingers instead of the flushed heat of his cock, and Touya’s thoughts are going hazy, too fogged-over into warmth for him to remember to be self-conscious. Shindou’s fingers are steady on him, jerking up with enough force to make up for the complete lack of any technique, and Touya has the brief flicker of awareness that they must look like what they are, young and inexperienced and too achingly desperate to stop. It’s only for a moment; then he’s  _actually_  picturing them, the slide of his fingers over Shindou and Shindou’s over him, and he doesn’t realize he’s opened his eyes until he blinks himself into focus on Shindou’s gaze.

“Oh,” he says, and “Touya,” Shindou says, faint and breathless like it’s a prayer, and all the shivering warmth in Touya’s body coalesces hot and trembling in his veins. His knees fall open, his throat goes tight, and suddenly he’s shaking, heat is washing through him and curling him in over Shindou’s hand as he gasps through his orgasm. His forehead is pressed to Shindou’s shoulder, his shoulders are shaking, but his hand is still moving without any conscious thought, as if he’s jerking himself through the aftershocks instead of it being Shindou’s fingers catching up over him. Shindou’s mouth lands against his hair, there’s a gust of an exhale blowing the strands against his face, and then Shindou groans, a sharp short cut-off noise, and spills hot all across Touya’s fingers.

There’s just heat, at first, tingling up Touya’s spine and blowing through his hair and sticky on his fingers. Then Shindou’s hand slows, loosens, and with the other boy shuddering into stillness against him Touya follows suit, feeling lost and uncertain. They’re both quiet for a moment, breathing hard enough Touya can hear Shindou’s inhales as clearly as his own; then Shindou lifts his head, looks around the room in search of something, and Touya can feel himself starting to flush crimson as Shindou tips sideways and reaches out for the tissues beside his bed. It’s silent for a few minutes while they both clean up; it’s a familiar process, at least, even if the setting and the company is making Touya consider melting through the floor with embarrassment.

Shindou’s the one to speak, finally. “Hey. Touya.”

Touya looks up. Shindou’s watching him, his forehead pressed into that crease again and his mouth tight on some repressed expression. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

“What?” Touya blurts, startled into response in spite of the blush burning all across his cheeks. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

Shindou’s mouth shifts, twists, slips wide to split into a grin. “You forgot about the game.”

Touya looks at the board, scattered now into a meaningless array of white and black; even then, it’s hard to pull back in his memory to find the thread of conversation, to remember that he was ever angry at all.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says as the recollection hits, then “You  _jerk_ ,” and Shindou starts to laugh as Touya reaches out to hit at him, gets an arm up in time to catch the other’s half-hearted punch. Touya wants to be angry but Shindou’s laughter is contagious, the other boy’s amusement falling into resonance with the lingering pleasure in his veins, and when he tries to swing again Shindou catches his hand and holds onto him so he can duck in for another kiss.

It’s a while still before they settle back down to the promised game. For once, Touya doesn’t mind the delay.


End file.
